InkStained Destiny
by Sh1 n0 m1k0
Summary: I waited for the day that he would receive his quest, starting in motion the wheel of destiny I had created for him.
1. Quill and Ink

**Ink-Stained Destiny**

-

The story was always there, resting just beyond my reach. Yet I knew it was there. Sometimes I thought it was just a silly conception that Nayru had planted in my subconscious to annoy me by always having it duck just out of reach when I would try to grasp it. Unfortunately, that belief got me into trouble. Stubbornly, I had ignored it, thinking that I would overcome it in time and the idea would simply fade away. Instead, it only became more vivid, distracting me from my work and duties.

I had to rid myself of it. It was becoming far too fantastical for me to keep bottled up inside my head. A typical fairy tale with the brave and mighty warrior rescuing the gentle, soft-spoken princess from the evil that was overtaking the land, with the warrior succeeding as always. A tale of action, romance, tragedy, comedy, good versus evil. Monsters and Saints. Bloodshed and Tears. Joy and Hope.

All this, flitting around the edges of my thoughts, staining them.

I could stand it no longer.

I sat in the Great Library, staring ata page of blank parchment. Delicately, I picked up my quill and dipped it in the pot of ink sitting nearby. I contemplated where to begin. Do I start before the tale itself? Writing a prologue to lead into the setting, the people, and the mood before slowly easing into the conflict that haunted my dreams? Or do I start at the ending? Revealing the conclusion before delving into the means of reaching that conclusion? Or do I start in the middle? Introducing the main character, followed by a flashback of introduction, ending with a continuation of the story, leading to the resolution?

A single tiny drop of ink fell from the tip of the quill, and I knew what to do. Lowering the quill to the parchment, I let the story choose.

_'Deep in Kokiri Forest, a boy of great destiny was born...'_

For days I stayed in the Library, writing during all hours of the day; missing meals, ignoring the outside world, just focusing on my work. The words would flow through me before leaving through the ink of my quill and taking shape on the parchment. The sound of the quill scratching became my world, my heartbeat, and my life. Candles burned to nothing, food grew cold and uneaten, and my sisters began to worry.

The tale that haunted me poured from my quill and continued onward, trapping me within itself as it's pages blossomed before me. With my hero I witnessed the glowing forest folk, felt the scorching heat of the fire dragon, and held my breath for impossible lengths while exploring the depths of a majestic lake. I blushed as girls began to bestow their interest with sly looks and giggles, and felt the agonizing weight of expectations placed upon me by those higher up than I. A war cry would leave my lips as I ran through yet another of the monsters that obstructed my way and a song would easily come to life at every peaceful moment.

I shared the accomplishment of my hero as he completed the tasks set before him, continuing closer and closer to the final conflict. I shared the utter despair as his childhood home was closed to him and duty came before his emotions. I shared the determination to continue on his questas evil continued to corrupt the world around him. My heart went out to him, my champion. My ink-stained bit of paper.

I stood by his side as he faced down the evil King of Sands, risking life and limb over and over, giving all of himself to save his beloved country and the people who made it complete. I had thought the story at an end there; evil was vanquished and peace was restored, yet I could not stop it. Soon I found myself searching for a long, lost companion, stumbling into a land I had not thought existed. I traveled the mirror world, finding scenery I had never before seen, yet interacting with people I had known along my travels. My hero continued onward, slaying demons and worse; freeing a land terrorized by wild magic, where the importance of their strange mask culture was key.

Identities blurred and shifted with the change of a mask until once again, the evil was sealed away. I watched as my hero mounted his steed and left this new land behind.. and the flow stopped.

The sudden block caught me off guard, at one point I actually wondered if the quill was broken. I briefly entertained the idea of creating an ending that I deemed suitable for my hero, leading him maybe to another grand undertaking or possibly leading him back home; to discover his own happiness for once and to live the rest of his days in peace.

So I tried to give him the peace I always wished he could have. And failed.

None of the scenarios I approached worked. At first, I set him off to find peace with his childhood friends, only to realize that after all he had been through, the forest was closed to him. He was far too scarred to live among the eternal children once more. The castle called briefly, but I knew him too well to think that would be an acceptable end for him. He spoke in words of action, with swinging swords and archery. He wouldn't be able to handle all of the intricacies of bureaucracies, the burdens of diplomacy,and the politics involved. He was much simpler, yet so much more complex than that. He was made for sunshine and trees and open air. Not stuffy halls and confining costumes. The ranch seemed a promising locale for a time, even the most plausible, but he just could not be settled.

But I could not keep him wandering, either.

The crumpled pages of failed endings carpeted the floor of my little corner of the Library, and I found myself pacing frequently. I had to do something. I could see my hero in my mind, adjusting his cap and walking quietly through the forest – but where was he going?

And I knew I could no longer touch him.

It was where he needed to be, with an unwritten ending. He needed the opportunity to walk away from the heavy hand destiny had dealt him throughout his multiple quests. He needed to discover his happiness on his own; without anyone creating it for him. Choosing his own way. If he ended up saving yet another country, that would be his own business. If he decided to settle down, take a wife, and start a family, that was his decision as well.

He was no longer mine.

I gathered up the sheaf of parchment and had it bound with a simple leather cover before taking it to my sisters. They each read it over quietly, sitting in the sunshine as I desperately waited for their reactions. After getting to the last page with it's abrupt end, theythumbed through the final blank pages and sat quietly, contemplating.

"This is a great destiny for someone so young," Nayru reflected quietly.

"It is unfinished," Din responded and Nayru nodded in agreement before defending my decision.

"Yes, but does he not deserve a taste of freedom after all he has done? True freedom?"

Din scowled at her, "It would be a dangerous undertaking," She sighed, "But it will be done."

I was there at his birth, hiding among the branches of the Great Deku Tree. I witnessed a poor woman give the last of her light to bring another into the world. I listened as she used the end of her breath to name the boy of fate, whom she would only hold once, and I admired her. She had struggled for him, protecting his unborn life and dragging herself to safety. I may have bore him of ink and paper, but she bore him of flesh and bone. He was my creation, but he would always be hers.

I kept watch over him as he grew in the forest, eternal children claiming him as one of their own and teaching him to live off the land without taking more than what was truly needed. I waited for the day that he would receive his quest, starting in motion the wheel of destiny I had created for him; the grand story I myself had written just for him.

My ink-stained piece of paper. My Hero of Time.

-

5h1 n0 m1k0

A/N: This particular muse hit me with an Amtrak at midnight thirty while I was ready to pass out from exhaustion. Then wouldn't leave me be until it was done at approximately... 4:00 a.m. Ack. I have no idea what the muse wanted, I just wrote what what she made me write. I'm sorry if none of it makes sense, but I really like the way it turned out. I even have ideas for further chapters... if that muse decides to hit me upside thehead again. Thanks for reading.


	2. Finger Paints

**Finger Paints**

I was apprehensive. Fate was ready to be put in motion, readied by the decision of myself and my sisters, but something still made me uneasy. I fully supported Farore in her endeavor, it was a beautiful destiny she had created after all, but there was one detail that was currently eating at me. I was in desperate need of clearing my head to determine my concerns about the project I had agreed to minutes ago. There was a loose end hidden amongst the story that felt as if it was in great peril of unraveling if it wasn't addressed; I knew I had to locate it before my sisters could remove the final stopping block from the wheels of destiny.

It was a beautiful day. The sky was blue, the grass was soft, and the sun was warm. And I found myself wandering about the grounds after parting ways with my sisters, thinking. A small, white dog bounded up to me, yipping happily, and I couldn't help but smile and pat it on the head. It's tongue lolled contentedly as I scratched it's ears before straightening and brushing off the skirt of my gown. I continued on my walk, heading toward the small grove situated to the east of the Great Hall. It was where I frequently went to clear my mind of distraction and where I could easily relax. Farore might have been able to make the Library her home for the creation of this particular destiny, but I needed open air. The dog followed me, close on my heels with it's tail wagging merrily.

Mentally, I reviewed the story as I remembered reading it. The hero was a wonderful character, one of the best I've encountered, easily fitting into his role of conflict and courage; he was definitely Farore's champion. Yet, the other key players were left largely undefined. The King of Sands was known as only a title with neither the image of a man or monster upholding it. His evil deeds were deeply founded, yet there was no physical definition of him. Even the noble Princess...

The Princess!

I stopped where I stood and leaned heavily on the nearest tree, breathing hard. The Princess was mine! The image of a small charcoal sketch of a young woman floated to the forefront of my mind. Her hair was long and flowing as her eyes laughed with an easy manner. When I had created the drawing offhand, I had not named her. She was to be yet another face in the vast land of Hyrule, daughter of a humble farming family I had chosen, possessing grace, patience, and kindness I endowed her with. She was gifted in the art of common sense and was quick to smile. She was to marry well into a family of merchants, selling sewing material in Kakariko until her son was old enough to take over the family business. She was to die quietly in her sleep on a night when the sky was clear.

But no. That was not to be her story any longer. It never was.

I scampered back to my quarters, racing across the grass and nearly tripping over my long skirts more times than I'd care to remember. My slippers slid across the marble floors and I was dangerously close to careening into the wall as I took a corner too quickly. I sprinted up the stairs to my quarters and flew into my study.

Quickly, I dug through the miscellaneous papers I had scattered across my desk's top, then rifled through the drawers until I found what I was looking for. My princess. It was just a scrap of a paper, really. I had probably sketched it offhandedly while listening to the latest reports of happenings in the land I created with my sisters. It had smudged horribly with the time it had spent shuffled amongst my other creations, but I could still barely make out the original drawing.

Laying the paper carefully down on top of my newly-created mess, I struggled to pull my well-worn easel from where I had tucked it into the corner of the room. It's legs got tangled in the thick rug, making it most difficult to pull it where I needed it to go. After struggling with it for a bit longer, I was finally able to set it up in the middle of the room. I hurried to fetch the necessary paint and canvas.

I stared at the blank sheet that stood upright before me. Who was this princess? What was she like? What happens to her? Daintily, I dipped a brush in one of the small pots of paint around me and made the first stroke. She was kind. Another stroke. She was gracious. Another. She was bold.

I don't know how long I stayed in that room, working diligently on her portrait, but with every swatch of color I put down, more came clearer to me. I saw her diligence and loyalty to her people. I felt her stubbornness. I gave her grace and mercy.

Slowly, she began to take shape, with slender neck and high cheekbones. She would be a just leader and respected by all of Hyrule. Her mouth quirked into a knowing smile, and her eyes began to shine.

She was fair of skin, glowing on the canvas. Her almond shaped eyes were sharp and intelligent, hiding a smile in it's deep blue. She would be desired. Her lips were a rosy pink. She would marry for love.

I leaned back to take in the full effect my oils had created. She really was lovely. I vaguely wondered how Farore's Hero would get along with her. Marvelously, most likely. But that was neither here nor there.

I left the painting where it sat, allowing it to dry and to sort out the multitude of images that began to plague me. Everywhere I looked, I saw her doing good deeds, suffering for her people, and praying for the wisdom to continue onward.

But I was well pleased.

I called my sisters to me and showed them my champion. Farore clapped her hands with excitement. Din shook her head, cynical as she ever was.

But it did not matter.

For my Princess would lead our land into an age of prosperity, and the whole of Hyrule would someday come to her for her wisdom.

I hung the painting in the Great Hall, next to the pedestal that held Farore's manuscript, framed with simply carved wood. The pieces were coming together, and soon it would be time for our legend to begin.


End file.
